menh/MENH/mennnnnh Interjection 1a: a non-specific declaration of delight as in (Menh! I’m so very pleased to see you!) 1b: a non-specific declaration of dismay as in (I am incredibly hungover and in need of a Caesar; mennnnnh!) 2: in place of a growl, purr, roar, cry, or similar as in (triumphant turtle, menacing fish, or similar: Menh!) 3a: in times of triumph or victory as in (joyful baby: Mennnh! ~I am born!) 3b: as a battle cry as in (attacking squirrel: Mennh! ~I will crush thee!)

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“It is not so much that there are ironies of history, it is that history itself is ironic. It is not that there are no certainties, it is that it is an absolute certainty that there are no certainties. It is not only true that the test of knowledge is an acute and cultivated awareness of how little one knows (as Socrates knew so well), it is true that the unbounded areas and fields of one’s ignorance are now expanding in such a way, and at such a velocity, as to make the contemplation of them almost fantastically beautiful. One reason, then, that I would not relive my life is that one cannot be born knowing such things, but must find them out, even when they then seem bloody obvious, for oneself. If I had set out to put this on paper so as to spare you some or even any of the effort, I would be doing you an injustice.”

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SO. Last night I went to that talk I was telling you about — thereby braving both the rush hour bike traffic on King West, and the nervous feeling that comes when you show up to something and realize you stick out like a sore thumb. In my case a soft, pasty, meat-eating thumb, slightly tipsy on cider. I don’t think anyone at Patagonia liked my eyelet lace crop top, or my mullet skirt. But in I went.

My earlier hunch about snacks being provided was correct: there were apples and bowls of trail mix on offer. Yay, dinner! I manged away, and the talk began …

First we watched a video about Foodshare, a program that works with schools to teach kids how to feed themselves. Community gardens, cooking classes, food ed … they do all kinds of cool stuff. Then Chef Brad Long began to speak. He was wonderful to listen to, instructive, pragmatic, and calm. He described his upbringing in the 60’s, a time when humans were really divorced from food — where it came from, what it was made of — and believed that cooking was women’s work, and that farming was dirty work. Isn’t it funny how things change? My generation absolutely fetishizes food and farming; we want to know the name of the pig whose belly we’re eating, whose grandmother pickled those peppers, and where that wooden bar top was reclaimed from. To us there’s nothing more noble and worthy than farming, nothing sexier and more glamourous than cooking. That’s why big food corporations now use terms like “hand-crafted,” “homestyle,” “artisanal,” and “natural” to sell the same bullshit processed food Chef Brad was surrounded by in his childhood. Back then, artificial was a good thing, and processed meant safe. Now they’ve got to stretch their marketing muscles to keep us shopping for their products.

But Chef Brad is in no way an alarmist or an extremist. When he said, “You don’t have to stop shopping at Loblaws,” I breathed a sigh of relief. He advocates balance, buying seasonally, forming relationships with farmers/vendors, but also being reasonable. Food is fuel, and sometimes you just have to eat what’s at hand. That is, he reminded us, why fast food was invented.

Next, Debbie Field spoke. She’s the executive director of Foodshare, and comes at things from that perspective. She spoke a lot about the health (read: obsesity) crisis in North America, and made a very salient point which is that as much as we’d all love to live in a food utopia, many people can’t afford to buy organic or free-range anything. Having said that, it’s important to teach kids how to nourish themselves. According to her, she’s just tapping into the excitement about food that kids already have, and that she’s “never met a kid who didn’t like cherry tomatoes.” I found this a bit hard to believe, since my relationship with fresh vegetables essentially began at age 18, but maybe if I’d been gardening at school and had had the chance to taste the veggies of my labour, things would’ve been different.

There was a question period during which this super-annoying girl said she was concerned about buying local because local things are often not organic, and she was worried that even with the organic certification, chemicals might still be getting into her food, especially apples because they’re so thin-skinned, and she was frightened of GM foods … finally Chef Brad looked at her and said, “What are you so afraid of?” I could’ve leapt up and cheered. We live in a dirty, dirty world, and pesticides are pretty low on the list of Things That Are In the World That Will Kill You. Chef also made a great point, which is that if anyone should be concerned about the long-term effects of pesticides, it’s the farmers who breathe them in all day.

The man next to me raised his hand, and told us that he has one of the healthiest diets on earth, and everyone in the world should eat like him. His two superfoods of choice? Chia seeds and grasshoppers. I actually read a feature in the New Yorker last year about how insects could be the solution to global hunger, so the idea of eating bugs isn’t completely foreign to me. However I still had a bit of a giggle as I imagined this guy grinning self-righteously as he ate his delicious daily dose of crickets.

In the end, attending this event reinforced what I already knew, which is that critical thinking and moderation are my BFFs. No one is going to map out the correct route for me, at the grocery store or anywhere else. I left with two good new bits of info, as well. One is Debbie Field’s hearty recommendation of the Dufferin Grove farmer’s market. I live really close to it but have never gone to check it out. I resolve to do so as soon as this abysmal flood abates. The other thing I learned is that there’s a plan afoot to uproot the Ontario Food Terminal in favour of — you guessed it — CONDOS. Come onnnnnn. Can you say short-sighted and money-grubbing?? So I’m going to write a letter to someone. My MP perhaps? I’ll keep ya posted.

Happy happy Friday afternoon to all,

Sar

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This useful illustration comes care of my father, a gifted practitioner of quietude and mental peace. He’s similar to Syl’s dad in that he denounces most New Age practices as flaky (or perhaps as “voodoo”), but when he sits silently in the yard, contemplating birdsong and watching the grass grow, I know that whether he’ll admit it or not, he is meditating.

It doesn’t really matter what we call these periods of mental and emotional rest. It only matters that we do whatever it takes to make sure we have them. Right??

I will attempt to remain,
Peacefully yours as I prepare for my first night at my new job,

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Last night I stumbled upon The Stained Apron, a website “dedicated to the venting of food servers’ frustrations and a harsh education of the dining public!” A server myself, I was immediately drawn in, and spent over an hour voraciously reading anecdotes from my fellow industry workers. I at first expected to feel a sense of camaraderie and validation from the stories I read. But what I ended up feeling was embarrassment and horror.

Who are these trogs?? I thought, as I clicked through sordid and petty tales. Padding tabs, adding powdered laxatives to a beverage, serving mouldy cheesecake … do people actually do things like this? Well …. padding tabs is one thing … but … deliberately serving nasty shit to your (presumably human being) customers is something else!

It got me thinking about the work that I do, and I felt compelled to share some thoughts on morality and expectations in the service industry.

First, let me state that I work in a nice restaurant. It’s been around for years, the food is superb, and it’s owned by a well-regarded company. I’m blessed — I earn a very good living, and since I work here in Toronto, my job description is nothing to be ashamed of. I have benefits, too. It’s pretty sweet all around. However, that doesn’t mean I love my job all the time. It’s incredibly stressful, physically and emotionally demanding, and completely unpredictable. There are nights (usually Saturdays, when the 905 comes to act a fool in the 416) when I want to remove my (pristine, unstained) apron, ball it up, and force it down someone’s gullet. After-work cocktails are a must.

But I believe that I have the power to determine my own experience as a server. As I’ve grown and matured, I’ve learned that bitching is useless. Blaming is useless. And the sooner you can learn to bask in the positivity, while telling the negativity to go fuck itself, the happier, calmer, richer you will be.

Revenge is a dish best acted out in your head. But, no matter what a customer says or does, you’ve got a couple of stanchions to fall back on and keep steady. One is politeness. Steely, precise, terrifying politeness. Any good server knows how powerful this can be. If I don’t like a customer’s conduct, I do my best impression of Emily Post on blow. It’s really amazing how quickly you can cow and diffuse someone this way.

Humility works, too. I am generous with my apologies. Why? Because people love that shit. If you apologize, then they get to forgive you, and that makes them feel really great. If you can get them laughing, all the better. “Rueful” is what you’re going for with this.

Above all, though, stands professionalism. If I can hold my head up and say, “I’ve done my best,” I feel a lot better about things, no matter how bad things are. That’s why — regardless of how rude, demeaning, or ignorant you may be — I will never spit in your food. I refuse to be anything but awesome. And if you want to leave a lame tip, fine. Yes, you will be mocked. I will absolutely show the credit card slip bearing your paltry gratuity to my colleagues. We’ll have a good (rueful?) laugh. And that’s it. I won’t banish you to the table by the bathroom on your return visit. I won’t prank call you, or refuse to serve you when you come back next week … I won’t use any of the trashy tactics espoused over at The Stained Apron. I will just inhale and exhale deeply as I remind myself that the world is full of people who just don’t get it, and your misfortune at being one of them is far greater than my misfortune in serving you.

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I found this article on Marc and Angel Hack Life in a roundabout way, (it is a great Blog previously unknown to me), and realized in a flash that it was exactly what I had been looking for, albeit not consciously. Funny how these things happen to us sometimes. The whole blog offers tidbits of inspirational advice, but this post consists of standards of action all of us really should adhere to everyday and most of us probably could stand to be reminded of. I have included the three that resonate most profoundly with me (written by Marc), but check out the complete list here, it is worth the five minutes.

Stop focusing on what you don’t want to happen. – Focus on what you do want to happen. Positive thinking is at the forefront of every great success story. If you awake every morning with the thought that something wonderful will happen in your life today, and you pay close attention, you’ll often find that you’re right.

Stop wasting time explaining yourself to others. – Your friends don’t need it and your enemies won’t believe it anyway. Just do what you know in your heart is right.

Stop spending time with the wrong people. – Life is too short to spend time with people who suck the happiness out of you. If someone wants you in their life, they’ll make room for you. You shouldn’t have to fight for a spot. Never, ever insist yourself to someone who continuously overlooks your worth. And remember, it’s not the people that stand by your side when you’re at your best, but the ones who stand beside you when you’re at your worst that are your true friends.

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We’ve been lying here watching Blue Planet for hourrrrrs, and we are thinking lovingly of our beautiful world, and all the wonders that it holds, and how crucial they are to preserve. We just donated to the World Wildlife Fund, and you can too! It’s easy, just go to their website: http://www.worldwildlife.org

And, we are reminded of one of our fave books by the Good Doctor … The Lorax!

Catch! calls the Once-ler.
He lets something fall.
It’s a Truffula Seed.
It’s the last one of all!
You’re in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds.
And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs.
Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care.
Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air.
Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack.
Then the Lorax
and all of his friends
may come back.

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“When you love someone you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships.”